


A Tactile Folly

by dracoqueen22



Series: Folly of the Brave [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Some Nebulous Point in the Series, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 20:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15299655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: It takes two to play this game, and Fjord decides it’s time to up the ante.





	A Tactile Folly

**Author's Note:**

> Set at some nebulous point in the series but could pick up just about anywhere. Self-betaed. Still toe dipping into a new fandom. :)

Molly’s touchy.   
  
And Fjord doesn’t mean he’s overly sensitive.   
  
Maybe the better word is handsy. Molly’s handsy. He touches everyone and supposedly, it doesn’t mean anything. A hand on the shoulder here. A pat on the back there. Tweaking Nott’s cheek and tugging on Beau’s bun and pinching Jester’s bum and grabbing Caleb up in a big embrace from behind, lifting him off the ground, much to the wizard’s consternation.   
  
Fjord doesn’t put too much thought into Molly touching him because Molly touches everyone. Maybe Fjord’s seeing things that aren’t there, imagining the touches as lengthier, lingering. A slide down his arm. A squeeze to his bicep. A flutter at the base of his spine. A brush over the nape of his neck. Leaning in close to talk, hot exhales over his ear sending shivers up his spine.   
  
Maybe he’s imagining things.   
  
Or maybe Molly’s flirting with him.   
  
Maybe there’s something to the way he catches Molly looking at him, eyes dark and hot. The way he licks his lip, nibbles on his bottom one when Fjord glances his direction. The way his gaze lingers, traveling up and down Fjord’s body like it has physical weight. Maybe there’s invitation in the curve of his lips, a smirk meant to challenge.   
  
Molly catches him looking back and says nothing. Does nothing. Like he’s playing a game or maybe he’s waiting for Fjord to make the first move or maybe he’s just a big, colorful tease because everything about Molly is a lie.   
  
And everything about him is true.   
  
He’s a paradox.   
  
A lovely, luscious paradox whose neck deserves a nibble or three.   
  
Fjord likes to think he’s a patient person. But there’s only so much patience a man can have when someone like Molly is being a big tease.   
  
It’s not until they hole up at a cheap inn with tattered curtains and narrow beds and rooms so small they count as closets when Fjord decides enough is enough.   
  
It takes two to play this game, and he’s upping the ante. So to speak.   
  
Three tankards later, Molly retires early. With a lingering look, he flounces upstairs, tail flicking behind him like it’s trying to hypnotize.   
  
Fjord toys with his own mug, empty, debates another refill. Caleb has his nose buried in a book. Nott eyes a patron whose head bobs over his empty tankard, shiny rings dangling from his fingers. Beau and Jester scrap over the last cinnamon roll, and Fjord hedges his bets on Jester emerging victorious. Yasha sharpens her sword, strong fingers moving quick and sure up the length of the blade.   
  
Yasha looks up then, as though sensing Fjord’s gaze, and offers him a long, steady look. It speaks all kinds of things. Or maybe it’s a warning.   
  
Fjord climbs to his feet, stretches his arms over his head, pretends heat isn’t flushing down to pool in his belly. He mutters something about being exhausted and an early start. No one pays him a bit of attention. No one except Yasha, whose steadying look has turned to a smirk.   
  
She keeps her comments to herself.   
  
Fjord heads upstairs, dragging his feet, anticipation curling like a cast in his belly. The inn smells of charred meat and hearth smoke, but he can still follow the thin trail of incense straight to the room he and Molly share.   
  
He pauses outside the door and catches his breath. There’s a game afoot, probably. He’ll need all his wits about him. Molly is not your average foe.   
  
The door’s unlocked so he pushes inside, pretending nonchalance as he closes the door behind him. Molly’s crouched, rummaging around in his pack, having shed all of his layers save the one closest to his skin.   
  
He looks up as Fjord enters and something flashes in his eyes. “What’s this?” he asks. “Miss me already?”   
  
“Too much to drink, I think,” Fjord says, and pays too much attention to the quick flick of Molly’s tongue across his lips.   
  
Fjord sits on the edge of the nearest bed and loosens the ties of his boots so he can kick them off. The room is so small it puts his knees within inches of Molly, who stands and suddenly Fjord is face to groin with the tiefling.   
  
He’s reasonably certain that’s on purpose. He wouldn’t put it past Molly to disrobe entirely without any warning either. Nudity has never bothered him.   
  
Truthfully, it doesn’t bother Fjord either. Save that he suspects Molly only does it to provoke a reaction.  
  
“And here I thought you had the strongest constitution of us all,” Molly purrs, flippant. One hand rests on his hip, cocked to the side.   
  
The scent of incense fills Fjord’s nose. It’s stronger now, like Molly spritzed himself with perfume, like he knew Fjord would come after him.   
  
Fjord stands. Their knees knock together. Molly tilts his head to look up at him, his horn decorations chiming musically, the arc of his scarred throat demanding a lick or two.   
  
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Fjord says.   
  
Molly laughs. “What? Breathing? Because I have to admit, that’s true. I like being alive, and breathing is sort of a requirement for that.” He wiggles his eyebrows, jewelry clinking, and there’s so much bullshit in his tone, Fjord can’t help but laugh.   
  
“You’re a piece of work, you know that,” he says, and he moves a step forward, close enough their chests collide.  
  
Molly stands his ground, doesn’t move. “I’m a piece of everything.” His tongue flicks over his lips, a sharp inhalation pushing his chest against Fjord’s.   
  
One more step and even the ever-graceful Mollymauk will lose his balance and tumble backward onto the narrow bed.  
  
“Definitely a piece of a tease,” Fjord replies. He reaches for Molly, but the tiefling tilts his head away at the last second. Playing hard to get? No, that’s not Molly’s style.   
  
He’s just plain playing.   
  
Molly’s smirk turns devilish. “And you’re definitely as smart as I thought you were.”   
  
Molly’s quick. His hand curves around the back of Fjord’s head before Fjord realizes it’s there, and he tugs Fjord down, their lips crashing together in a hard merge of teeth and tongue. Fjord stumbles, a touch off balance, his hands finding Molly’s hips as a tongue plunges into his mouth, sweeping around as though laying claim.   
  
Fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck, raising goosebumps along his skin. Fjord squeezes Molly’s hips and returns the fervor, briefly nipping at Molly’s bottom lip, tasting the cheap ale on Molly’s tongue.   
  
Molly makes a noise, a cross between a moan and a growl, and it shoots straight to Fjord’s groin. His grip tightens on Molly’s hip, and he leans forward, trying to bear Molly back toward the bed, if only because he wants to see Molly sprawled across it, and this time, not because he’s been sleeping over every possible inch of it.   
  
There’s a laugh against his lips. “Nice try,” Molly says.   
  
Fjord doesn’t know whether it’s a shove or a push or a lean, but he’s suddenly off balance and falling.   
  
He slams onto the bed behind him, narrowly missing clocking the top of his head against the wall, the bed creaking and kicking up a ruckus. He flails in surprise as Molly tumbles down atop him, straddling his thighs as though that was his intention all along. He laughs, throaty and amused, tail swishing through the air like a pleased cat.   
  
“Hmm, look at this.” Molly’s knees press in at Fjord’s hips. “You’ve fallen into my trap, and now I have you right where I want you.”   
  
“Is that so?” Fjord asks.   
  
Molly leans back, his bum planted firmly on Fjord’s thighs. “It is indeed.” His palms flatten on Fjord’s belly as though mapping out the planes of his abdomen. “You are easy to entrap, Fjord.”   
  
Fjord wraps his fingers around Molly’s deceptively thin wrists. “I don’t think it counts as entrapment if I knew what I was getting into.”   
  
Molly laughs, his eyes sparkling with genuine humor. He leans closer, the heat of him shifting into a grind over Fjord’s groin. “You have no idea what I’m made of.”   
  
Fjord grins and tightens his hold on Molly’s wrists. “Well, I can think of a couple of ways to find out,” he replies, and he gives a sharp tug.   
  
Molly’s eyes round in surprise as he tilts forward, caught off balance, and Fjord takes the initiative to roll them, pinning Molly beneath him. His hands are effective manacles around Molly’s wrists, pressed as they are to the mattress to either side of Molly’s horns.   
  
“This is a start, if you ask me,” Fjord says as Molly flushes, his skin darkening in hue, his eyes like pools of melted ruby.   
  
“Well, like my mother used to say,” Molly pauses to plant his heels on the bed, arching his hips upward, rolling them toward Fjord, “don’t ever start something you don’t intend to finish.”   
  
Fjord chuckles and leans close enough for their lips to brush. “Oh, I’m going to finish,” he says punctuating the word with a grind downward, bearing Molly into the dense mattress. “And I’m taking you with me.”   
  
A strangled sound rises in Molly’s throat, but he bares his teeth in mock violence. “You’re only taking because I let you,” he says, and his tail wraps around Fjord’s left thigh in a tight squeeze. “It’s an offer. Don’t disappoint.”   
  
Fjord skims his lips over Molly’s, but before the tiefling can capture him for a kiss, Fjord’s mouth moves lower, teeth grazing over the scars on Molly’s throat. The vee of his shirt bares his chest, and there’s an array of marks here as well. Fjord wants to taste them all.   
  
“What else are you going to let me have?” Fjord asks against Molly’s throat before his lips find the bright lines of Molly’s tattoos.  
  
It’s ridiculous to expect them to taste different. His tongue laps up woodfire smoke, sweat, and the faintest tang of blood. Fjord makes a low noise in his throat, his tongue making broader sweeps, tracing the whorls and circles of the colorful tattoos.   
  
“That depends on how talented your hands are.” Molly gives a tug to his wrists, as though testing the strength of Fjord’s grip. “And if you let me go so you can start putting them to work.”   
  
Fjord laughs against Molly’s collarbone and shifts his weight to his knees. “Fair enough.” He tugs Molly’s shirt out of his trousers, baring a flat abdomen that he skates his palm across. He guides Molly’s shirt up and up, until he can maneuver it over the tiefling’s head and toss it to the floor.   
  
Mmm. Much better.   
  
It’s not as though he hasn’t seen Molly half-nude or even fully-nude before. But never with so much blatant invitation to both appreciate and touch. He can’t decide where he wants to lick first.   
  
“You look like you want to eat me,” Molly purrs as he stretches his arms over his head, hips wiggling, the last few piercings jingling where they dangle from his horns.   
  
Fjord flattens his palm on Molly’s abdomen, feels the heat of him beneath it, admires the tight nubs of Molly’s nipples. “The thought had crossed my mind.” He braces his weight with his free hand and leans over, mouthing Molly’s belly button.   
  
“No chewing,” Molly says with a little giggle that has no business being charming. Especially as he rises off the bed, pushing his belly toward Fjord’s mouth. “Licking, yes. Biting even better. But absolutely no chewing.”   
  
Fjord chuckles against his chin, tasting the sweat-blood flavor of him. “Is sucking allowed?” He punctuates the question by flattening his hand against Molly’s groin, the rigid length straining the seam of Molly’s trousers.   
  
“Oh, it had better be,” Molly groans as he bucks up against Fjord’s fingers. One of his hands curves around the back of Fjord’s head, fingers tangling in his hair.   
  
“We’ll get to that,” Fjord says. He tugs the laces of Molly’s trousers, and his fingers dive inside to curl around him.   
  
Molly sucks air through his teeth and bucks up. He’s already hard and leaking. Fjord steals a glance, admiring the lighter purple flush at the base before the flesh darkens into a deep plum near the head. Sucking will definitely be in order eventually.   
  
“Now?” Molly asks as a shudder races through his body, his fingers tightening in Fjord’s hair, tugging on his scalp.   
  
“There’s always later,” Fjord murmurs against the curve of Molly’s jaw, stroking him with long, squeezing pumps.   
  
Molly hums and arches toward Fjord, his free hand fluttering over Fjord’s collarbone. “There’s going to be a later?” he asks, and there’s something almost hesitant in the question.   
  
It feels like something claws into Fjord’s chest and squeezes his heart.   
  
“Voracious gnolls couldn’t keep me away.” Fjord finds an ear and tugs it between his teeth.   
  
Molly sucks in a sharp breath and moans, his eyes darkening. “The things you say.” His fingernails prick at Fjord’s scalp. His head tips back, offering the marked column of his throat.   
  
Fjord licks his lips and has to taste him, has to drag the flat of his tongue over those ridged scars while his free hand pumps Molly’s dick, making his fingers slick and sticky. He could do this all night, he decides. Could keep Molly squirming and panting on the edge, his body a wave of sinuous motion. He’s gorgeous, and it’s decidedly unfair.   
  
He needs more. To see more.   
  
Fjord shifts back to his knees, only long enough to grab the hem of Molly’s trousers and whisk them off his feet. No undergarments beneath. Unsurprisingly.   
  
Long lean legs capture his attention. Molly’s proud and erect and leaking. He’s unashamed as he flexes his arms over his head, showing off, his lips curved invitingly.   
  
“You’re falling behind, Fjord,” he says. “You’re wearing far too much.”   
  
Fjord gnaws on his bottom lip, feels the stubs of his tusks grind against the sensitive flesh. “You’re right, I am,” he agrees, and fumbles for his own trousers.   
  
… his own  _unlaced_  trousers, the ends dangling freely, his pants sagging on his hips.   
  
Molly looks up at him with a smirk.   
  
...How?  
  
“When did you do that?” Fjord asks.   
  
Molly’s grin widens, displaying his teeth. “You’re just that easy to distract,” he says, and sits up to slide a hand into Fjord’s pants, fingers curling into a squeeze.   
  
A jolt of pleasure surges through his veins. Fjord groans, hips unconsciously juttering into Molly’s grip. The head of his dick grows wet.   
  
“It’s your fault,” he says.   
  
“Of course it is,” Molly all but sings and strokes him again, harder this time, as if trying to pull Fjord closer by the hand on his dick alone.   
  
Fjord licks his lips and leans in, trying to claim a kiss, because something about the curve of Molly’s mouth is irresistible. Before his lips can meet Molly’s, the tiefling twists beneath Fjord, away from his mouth, his hand vanishing from Fjord’s pants.   
  
“Where are you going?” Fjord asks, bewildered.   
  
Molly laughs and tries to wriggle forward, his tail lashing around and smacking Fjord’s thighs. He’s not making a true effort, Fjord thinks, so he gives chase, wrapping both arms around Molly and tugging him back into the cradle of his body.   
  
His dick rubs against Molly’s bum, smoother than he would have expected, and Fjord swallows a groan. He leaves a streak of precome behind and gives a little buck, grinding against the smooth curves.   
  
Molly hums with amusement. “I’m going right where I want to go.” He shifts backward, ass wiggling in the curve of Fjord’s body, grinding against his dick, his tail twitching.   
  
“This was your plan all along?” Fjord asks, bewildered. It’s so hard to tell with Molly sometimes, if he means what he’s saying or if he’s just talking out his ass.   
  
Again.   
  
Fjord buries his face against the back of Molly’s head, breathing in the scent of his hair, still carrying the faint whiff of soap from the last washroom. His lips land within range of an ear, and he clamps his mouth on the shell of it, biting down just enough to introduce himself.   
  
Molly moans and shoves back against him again, one hand wildly reaching behind himself. “You’re so easy to trap, I couldn’t resist,” he says as his fingers close around Fjord’s wrist and tug it down, planting Fjord’s palm right over his groin. “Don’t be shy now. Show me those talented hands.”   
  
Fjord chuckles against the back of Molly’s ear and curls his fingers around Molly. The heat of him throbs, and Molly arches as Fjord strokes him tight and long. His thumb sweeps over the tip, instantly wet.   
  
Molly squirms, his skin hot where it rubs against Fjord’s. “Oh, you’re not shy at all, I see.” He thrusts forward, hips pushing into Fjord’s grip.   
  
Fjord mouths Molly’s ear and chuckles as Molly squirms and giggles like it tickles him. “You should have known that.” He strokes Molly over and over, spreading slick down the length of him.   
  
“I’ve been told I shouldn’t – ah – presume,” Molly gasps, squirming in a sinuous wave of movement, their sweat-slick skin catching friction.   
  
His tail wriggles back, slapping Fjord’s thigh. He makes more delightful noises, each of them sending a throb of heat straight to Fjord’s groin. He makes a sloppy mess on Molly’s bum, exhaling hot and wet over Molly’s nearest ear.   
  
“You should have presumed sooner,” he says. “Instead of just watching. Looking only gets you so far.”   
  
“Got me far enough,” Molly retorts, sing-song. “But I guess making vague eye contact and openly ogling someone isn’t an appropriate method of seduction. I’ll work on that.”   
  
Fjord snorts and buries a laugh against Molly’s hair. “I must not be doing a good enough job if you’re still able to form complete sentences like that.”   
  
“Good point!” Molly says brightly and wraps one hand around Fjord’s wrist, urging it more firmly around his dick. “Try harder.”   
  
Fjord squeezes. “I think you’ve got the hard part figured out.”   
  
Molly gasps and bucks, his dick a molten throb of want. “Probably not for much longer if you keep that up, I’m going to soak your hand.”   
  
“That is the opposite of a problem.” Fjord ruts against his back, and Molly rocks with him, their bodies skidding and sliding together. He breathes in the smoke-scent of Molly’s hair, the incense and whatever soap he uses. Molly’s jewelry – what few bits he still wears – jingles with each movement.   
  
Fjord dots hot kisses along the back of Molly’s neck, his nose brushing long strands of dark hair. More pre-come slithers out of his dick, streaking across Molly’s bum, and Fjord groans a damp exhalation of need.   
  
“Don’t… ah… don’t make a mess on me,” Molly says, just short of a keen, his breathing sharp and erratic. He squirms in Fjord’s arms like he can’t keep still, like the pleasure makes it impossible.   
  
Fjord’s teeth grazes the back of Molly’s neck. “I’m going to make a mess whether you like it or not,” he growls.   
  
Molly’s fingers dig into Fjord’s wrist, keeping his hand in place. “Then I guess you’ll just have to clean me up,” he moans.   
  
His head tips forward, the meat of his shoulder and neck bare to Fjord’s mouth. Fjord takes advantage, clamping down with his teeth, tongue flicking over violet skin and tasting sweat and musk and strange things.   
  
Molly moans, long and low, and he bucks in Fjord’s grip, fingertips digging in hard enough to leave bruises. He goes rigid in Fjord’s arms, a cry on his lips, and pulses a sharp staccato, wet splashes of his release coating Fjord’s fingers.   
  
Fjord licks his lips and strokes Molly through the spasms, extending the release as long as possible. Molly whines, audibly panting, before he abruptly twists in Fjord’s arms, like he’s half-snake and equally squirmy.   
  
“You, too,” he says before both hands shove between their bodies and wrap around Fjord’s dick, rubbing one palm over the head of it and smearing slick down the length.   
  
Fjord groans and crushes Molly against him, panting into Molly’s hair, pleasure shooting up his spine like a lightning bolt. He raggedly humped the tight tunnel of Molly’s hands, leaking so profusely the air thickens with the scent of it.   
  
Molly pants against his neck, and his tongue flicks out over Fjord’s throat, tiny little hot licks that make the coil in his belly tighten and tighten. Fjord bucks hard, his body locking up, his muscles trembling where he holds Molly against him.   
  
“Good boy,” Molly purrs, his exhalations like steam against Fjord’s throat. “Come now. Spill for me. I want to feel it.”   
  
Fjord groans, teeth gritting, and he comes. Ecstasy takes him just like that, spurt after spurt over Molly’s fingers, spattering the hollow of Molly’s groin and the flat planes of his abdomen.   
  
Molly’s mouth covers Fjord’s, a kiss more sloppy than anything. He licks over Fjord’s lips, his teeth, laughing against his mouth. He massages Fjord through the rest of his release, until the tremors stop rattling up and down his spine. The sliding tickle of his tail strokes the side of Fjord’s abdomen and his hip, until his trousers block access to bare skin, since he’d never fully undressed.   
  
“You made a mess on me,” Molly says. He pulls back and holds up a hand, waving in front of Fjord’s face to show off the release clinging to his fingers.  
  
“Told you I would,” Fjord says. His thoughts are sluggish in the wake of his release. All he wants to do is tug the fire that is Molly into his arms and go to sleep.   
  
“So you did,” Molly hums and because he’s Molly, licks a broad swipe up the flat of his palm, suckling at the tip of his finger. “Tastes like seawater,” he says and smacks his lips.   
  
Fjord groans and flops his head onto the pillow, straw crinkling behind the burlap. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”   
  
“Nope!” Molly pops his lips again and sucks another finger clean before offering his index to Fjord with a wriggle. “Want to taste?”   
  
“I’m good, thanks,” Fjord drawls.   
  
Molly shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He licks his fingers like someone might lick sugar from a scone, and Fjord wishes he hadn’t just come, because the sight of Molly lapping at his fingers is enough to make him twitch.   
  
Fjord saves the idea for later.   
  
For now, there’s still a mess at his groin and on Molly’s backside, and while making their way to a bath is not in the cards, they can at least wipe off.   
  
“You see a blanket or something nearby?” Fjord asks as he sits up on an elbow, peering over Molly to find something suitable.   
  
“Are you feeling shy?” Molly laughs as he licks his lips. But he does squirm around to his belly and start fishing around on the ground between their beds.   
  
His tail lazily flicks in the air. It’s mesmerizing. Fjord can’t help but want to touch, and so he does, gently palming where it joins Molly’s bum before his fingers slide down the length as far as he can reach. So smooth, so warm, flexible beneath his fingers.   
  
“Do you have a tail fetish, Fjord?” Molly asks seconds before something cloth smacks Fjord in the face.   
  
He bats it down, and is unsurprised to find his discarded shirt. It’s already sticky, too, because Molly had used one of the arms to wipe his hands.   
  
Fjord sighs and surrenders. He’ll just have to find somewhere to launder it eventually.   
  
“Well?” Molly asks as his tail teasingly whaps Fjord in the chest. “Do you?”   
  
“Probably.” Fjord chuckles and mops ineffectually at himself and then is nice enough to wipe down Molly’s bum, too.   
  
He may or may not be getting in several gropes while he’s at it. Next time, he promises himself.   
  
“I knew it.” Molly squirms and abruptly sits up, his hands going to his horns and the last few bits of jewelry. “Almost forgot.”   
  
Fjord props his head on his hand and watches Molly remove the decorative bits and set them carefully aside, with a reverence he shows few things. He’s usually more cavalier. Fjord doubts it has anything to do with sentimentality. No, this is more because Molly likes things that are pretty and shiny and occasionally gaudy, and he doesn’t want to damage or lose them.   
  
He’s unbothered by his nudity. Fjord’s not exactly demure himself, but Mollymauk’s lack of modesty puts all others to shame. He has it, so he flaunts it. Not that Fjord minds the view.   
  
Molly’s skin is a map of beauty, and Fjord wants to travel the roads of tattoos, the mountains and valleys of scars, the forests of color. Fingers first, he thinks, and then his tongue to follow. If Molly can tease him about tasting like seawater, surely Fjord can find a flavor that suits Molly just as well. Something sweet.   
  
Strawberries perhaps.   
  
“You’re staring,” Molly comments with a sidelong look. His lips are curved into a smile, his eyes like smoldering coals. It might have been unnerving, if Fjord hadn’t fought beside Molly more times than he has fingers by now.  
  
“I’m appreciating,” Fjord corrects and tosses the soiled shirt in the vague direction of the floor. He flops down onto the bed, leaving an arm open invitingly. “Come on. Nap time.”   
  
Molly snorts a laugh. “It’s past midnight, I’m sure. Don’t think it qualifies as a nap anymore.”   
  
Fjord snags Molly’s outflung wrist. A quick tug and the tiefling tumbles onto the bed, right into Fjord’s arms, where he should have been all along. His tail lashes like a startled cat.   
  
“You could have asked,” Molly sniffs.  
  
“I did,” Fjord reminds him as he tucks his arms around Molly, trying to encourage him to be still. Molly is as squirmy as a worm on a hook, honestly. Fjord half-expects him to slither right off the bed.   
  
“But the lamp--”  
  
“It’s almost empty.” Fjord closes his eyes and exhales softly. “Now shhhh. Sleep time.”   
  
Molly wriggles around and tucks himself under Fjord’s chin, his lips finding Fjord’s throat and giving it a nibble. “Mmm. Just like the ocean.”   
  
Fjord can’t help it. He laughs. “I’ll let that one go this time.” He presses a hand to the back of Molly’s head, fingers carding through dark hair, and tucking Molly against his throat. It involves some finagling, because of Molly’s horns, but he manages. “Shhh.”   
  
“Don’t you shush me.” A tail flicks over Fjord’s hip, and a warm palm follows it, sliding over his skin until it presses in at the base of his spine. There it lingers, fingernails kneading him like a satisfied cat.   
  
A Frumpkin even.   
  
Fjord muffles a snort. He throws a leg over Molly, further pinning the squirmy tiefling in place. Molly radiates heat like a bonfire, and so Fjord doesn’t lament the blanket trapped beneath them at all. Molly’s exhalations on his throat tickle him, but not enough to distract him from sleep.   
  
“Squeeze me any harder, and I won’t be able to breathe,” Molly says against his throat, wriggling in Fjord’s arms, fingers still scratching gently over his skin.   
  
Fjord playfully tightens his hold, forcing a squeak out of Molly, before he loosens it again. “If you aren’t breathing, you aren’t babbling.”   
  
Molly snorts. “Grumpy, grumpy. You’d think after an orgasm like that, you’d be a little more cheerful.” He exhales and Fjord feels the grin, though he can’t see it. “Maybe you’ll get a happy surprise in the morning then.”   
  
A rumble of arousal tiptoes down his spine. “Maybe,” Fjord says, and wonders if the hope is too bright in his tone. “Now hush.”   
  
Molly grumbles something incoherent. It might have been ‘spoils all my fun’. But he snuggles into Fjord’s arms anyway and settles at last. Well, his body does. His tail continues to lazily sweep across the bed, Molly’s thigh, and Fjord’s thigh by extension.   
  
Silence descends. Or as close to silent as it gets in a busy inn in a busy city that doesn’t seem to sleep, and where people of all flavors are still carousing in the streets as if the next day hasn’t already begun. Luckily, Fjord has slept in worse conditions. And having a bed partner who radiates heat is more than soothing enough.   
  
“I can hear your heartbeat,” Molly murmurs. His tail finally goes quiescent, snaking across the small space behind him.   
  
Fjord chuckles quietly. “Think of it as a lullaby,” he says.   
  
“It’s a good song,” Molly replies, and he sounds sleepy at last. He yawns, jaw-cracking, large enough for Fjord to feel the hot puff of his exhale, before he snuggles in closer and starts to go lax.   
  
Finally.   
  
Fjord’s heart beats an unexpectedly affectionate rhythm.   
  
Well, that’s new.   
  
He sets it aside for now. He’ll ponder it in the morning. For now, sleep.   
  


****

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very welcome and appreciated. I have more for these two, and hopefully a BeauYasha piece, when I can swing the time. Cheers!


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